Savage Deadlock Read online

  “Fucking hell, sir. Just look,” Patel yelled, reaching out to grab his superior officer. Jinnah was obscurely amused that Patel still remembered to call him sir, even when cursing. That amusement soon vanished when he turned and saw that Bolan and Davis were dragging the mountain woman in the opposite direction, away from the gully.

  What did they think they were doing?

  Jinnah looked back to where his other three men were making their way toward him. He swore, realizing that in their haste to follow him, they were making him and Patel sitting targets. He snapped at Patel to get out of the gully and follow Bolan and Davis.

  “See where they go—don’t lose them. Leave the others to me,” he barked, slapping Patel on the back as the older man climbed out of the gully. Jinnah set off in the opposite direction. From his fixed position he had been able to get a clearer view of the four enemy shooters than his men would have been able to glean as they covered the terrain. Two men were hiding at ten and two o’clock, but the remaining two were smack in the middle, within a meter or two of each other. If he pitched this right, then he might be able to take the two of them out with one hit. Jinnah took a grenade from one of the pockets in his uniform. He ran at a crouch until he was nearly level with Zia and Faiz. Up close, he could see that his number two was gray with shock and blood loss. It was imperative that Zia get him into cover. Shouting a few encouraging words, he passed them and looped his arm. Like most young men of a sporting disposition in Pakistan, Jinnah had played cricket from his school days. He had perfected the art of spin bowling and was one of the first on the team sheet at his barracks. His skills came into play now as he threw the grenade, which spiraled through the air.... Gunfire crackled around him, but he closed his mind to it as he concentrated on hitting the sweet spot.

  With perfect timing and aim, the grenade detonated as it touched the ground, taking the two centrally positioned rebels out of the game.

  Jinnah sprinted for the gully, shrugging his rifle off his shoulder so that he could add some covering fire to Jansher’s.

  And then the chattering of Jansher’s AK ceased. The young soldier screamed as one of the last two assailants took him down with a short burst that stitched across his chest, sending him to wherever Asif now lay at rest.

  Jinnah ran backward, stumbling over rock and scrub, firing bursts at random as the ground around him was ripped up by gunfire. It was two against one, but he felt some satisfaction that this could only mean Zia had gotten Faiz to safety. The gunfire at his back confirmed this, as Zia covered his superior.

  Breathless, he spared a second to look back and see what Patel was doing.

  It was not quite what he had ordered.

  * * *

  “ASK HER WHERE the camp is, tell her we want to help,” Bolan said as he pinned Lasi’s arms and tried to pull her backward. Davis was beside him, scanning the territory around them. Whoever had provided covering fire for the woman had stopped shooting, and Davis was trying to locate them from the last position she had noted.

  Suddenly, a burst of fire came from behind them. Davis spun around and was astounded to see Patel charging toward them, spraying.

  “He’s supposed to be on our side!” she yelled.

  “Take her,” Bolan said, thrusting the struggling Lasi into Davis’s hands while he took his rifle and carefully aimed at the charging Pakistani soldier. Whether it was a temporary flash of insanity, an indication of his hidden hostility toward the PWLA, or just frustration at a mission gone fugazi in his eyes, there was no doubt that Patel had murderous intentions. Bolan, on the other hand, had no such goals. He needed a clean shot to take the man temporarily out of the game, to disable him long enough to let Jinnah deal with him...if the corporal was still alive. Bolan hoped so; Jinnah was a good soldier.

  He was still drawing a bead when a burst of fire from behind him chopped Patel down as he ran. He stumbled as the bullets exploded across his chest, and he pitched forward as his momentum carried him beyond his failing legs.

  Bolan swung around, ready to return fire. There were two women, poorly concealed now, with their rifles in plain view. He didn’t want to take out PWLA members, but they were leaving him little choice.

  Bolan took aim at the two women he could only assume were about to fire again. Davis’s voice cut through everything and made him stop short as his finger tensed on the trigger.

  “Colonel, no—that’s Shazana Yasmin.”

  Chapter Nine

  Jinnah crossed the open terrain, astounded and enraged at what he could see in the distance, yet unable to process that information while his own safety was at risk. The ground around him was ripped up by the hidden enemy’s fire. To turn and try to shoot back would leave him wide open, so he kept running, moving erratically to make himself a harder target.

  Zia’s covering fire erupted from the gully, deflecting some of the offensive shots from Jinnah. Even though there were still bullets chopping up the dirt and stones around him, the intensity of fire slackened and made it a little easier for him to gain the gully. He flung himself in then righted himself, panting heavily. Zia met his stare, looking grim.

  Jinnah glanced down at Faiz, who was barely conscious. “He needs medical aid. We need to get our packs, get those two bastards nailed down and sort out those Yanks. Any suggestions?”

  Zia grinned, despite the situation. “First things first, sir—draw them out of cover.”

  “How do we do that, soldier?” Jinnah asked.

  “I think we’re already doing it, sir,” Zia said. “They want to follow the women, and they think we’re disabled here. They’ll take a chance. We just need a little patience.”

  “That takes time,” Jinnah murmured, looking back to where the two Americans were dragging the Baloch woman over to two other women who were standing above the lip of another trench. “We don’t have that.”

  “Neither have they, sir,” Zia returned. “They can see the women, too....”

  Jinnah’s lips twisted into a smile as he followed the younger soldier’s eye line. The two dark shadows of their enemy were on the move, leaving their cover as they tried to gain valuable ground on the retreating Americans.

  The rebels were assuming that the two soldiers in the gully were as disadvantaged as the man they had dragged there.

  “You take the left, I’ll take the right,” Jinnah said quietly, shouldering his AK and drawing a line on the approaching shadow as it flickered in and out of view. “We’ll only get one real chance, so hold your nerve.”

  Zia did not respond. His attention was already firmly focused on the man approaching from the left.

  Sweat trickled down the soldiers’ foreheads as they held their positions firm. Neither man blinked—neither man dared, for fear that in that fraction of a second, their target would slip out of sight and come up on his blind side.

  The seconds seemed to stretch into hours, yet with the distance involved it could not have been more than half a minute before the two shadows came close enough to form substance, even as they used their skills to try to blend into the land.

  Zia fired first. His hand was rock steady as he kept the rebel in the center of his vision. The man moved at enough of an angle to leave his body vulnerable, and there was the shot. Zia tapped twice. The first shot took his opponent in the upper right shoulder, the impact turning his body so that the second shot, which was a fraction lower, caught him full in the chest.

  One down...

  Jinnah resisted the temptation to check on what was happening beside him. He had to remain focused on his own target. His man was smarter—or maybe he just had more cover on his side of the plateau—and he was harder to track. Once, twice, three times the rebel slipped into view, but it wasn’t enough to ensure a kill. He had to be certain.

  Zia’s two taps gave Jinnah the break he needed. As the shots sounded
across the otherwise silent plateau, the last man standing faltered for a moment as he tried to spare a glance for what had occurred across the barren rock. His foot caught on a rock and although he did not stumble or fall, his momentum was disturbed so that he was fractionally off balance as he tried to dart behind a crop of stone. Instead of moving behind it as he had intended, he bumped his right side on the rock and snagged his clothing. He didn’t stop, but for the smallest moment he slowed, presenting the perfect shot for the experienced Jinnah.

  Though a body shot would have slowed him further, Jinnah didn’t want to take the risk that the man, even wounded, would find shelter and draw out the confrontation. With Faiz fading and the Americans getting further away with every second, he gambled on a head shot, the small target frozen in his sights just long enough for him to show why he had been top of his class in firearms training.

  One tap, one shot, one dead enemy.

  Jinnah blew out slowly. “Zia, you stay here with Faiz. I’ll get the packs for us and some meds. Watch those Yanks as much as possible, too. We’ll do what we can for Faiz now, and then we’ll get after them.”

  The younger soldier was bewildered “But we need to get Faiz to medics as soon as possible.”

  Jinnah laughed harshly. “That isn’t going to happen out here, soldier. Our best chance is to catch the Americans and those women—that’s the PWLA camp they’re headed for, and there are bound to be medics there. Besides,” he added, “we need to have a few words with everyone about what the hell is going down here.”

  * * *

  BOLAN AND DAVIS STOOD MOMENTARILY, studying the two women a short distance away, both of whom were aiming their weapons at them.

  “Are you sure?” the soldier barked, unwilling to drop his own weapon while he had two rifles trained on him. “Speak to me, Davis.”

  “I don’t know who the tall one is, but the short woman is Shazana Yasmin. I’d know her anywhere.”

  “You’d better hope she knows you,” he said.

  Davis let go of the woman she was holding and took a step forward. “Shaz, it’s me....” she yelled.

  Lasi took advantage of her sudden freedom. She threw herself away from Davis and scrabbled for her rifle, rolling across the rocks as she grabbed it and coming up onto her knees with the gun trained on Bolan.

  “Tell her that if she shoots, I can take out one of the women before I die,” he said to Davis.

  She repeated his words in her perfect Urdu, and the woman’s reply came too fast for Bolan to fully grasp, but the gist was clear enough.

  “Don’t bother,” he said as Davis began to translate. “I get it—I’ll still be dead, so what good will killing either of them do me? She’s right. But does she want to lose Yasmin?”

  Davis translated this quickly. The woman replied, and Bolan offered a wry smile.

  “She doesn’t think I can shoot that well? She want to try me?”

  * * *

  YASMIN AND SURI stood watching the tableau unfold before them, confused and worried as they saw the man drop to his knees and aim at them while Lasi set her sights on him.

  “What are we supposed to do now?” Suri asked, confusion and anger thickening her voice. ‘“Shaz, what is it?” she added in a panicked tone.

  Yasmin was almost numb with shock. “I don’t... That can’t be possible,” she mumbled.

  ‘“What? What can’t be possible?” Suri snapped.

  Yasmin turned to her. ‘“How does a woman I went to college with in America turn up in the middle of Pakistan with a gun in her hand?”

  Suri’s brow furrowed. “Shaz, what the hell is going on?”

  Yasmin gritted her teeth and leveled her rifle. “I have no idea, but Tamara joined the U.S. Army. Until the other guy drops that gun, she’s as much the enemy as he is, no matter why she’s here.”

  Suri said nothing, but leveled her own weapon, as well.

  Finally, the man let his gun drop. Yasmin indicated that Suri should follow her lead and do likewise. They watched the American hold his hands over his head while Tamara picked up his weapon and Lasi ushered him toward them.

  In the distance, Yasmin could see that the original fight had ceased. The last shots had echoed across a suddenly silent and deserted plain. There was no sign of either the rebels or the Pakistani military men.

  At the back of her mind, Yasmin wondered if the way the Americans—particularly Tamara—were now being treated was entirely correct. It was clear that Lasi and Suri had little doubt that these two people were the enemy. But were they? The enemy was the now eliminated army of shadows that had swarmed toward them when they stood as one fighter and two inexperienced women.

  But there was no time for this kind of moral dilemma as the two Americans came closer. Tamara Davis was holding a rifle, barrel downward, while the man still had his hands over his head. Lasi kept casting glances at the eerily quiet plateau behind them.

  When Tamara first began to shout in their direction, Yasmin didn’t take in what she was saying. Then she understood and felt a hot anger rise within her.

  The words were clear. Too clear. “Shaz, you need to leave here and come back with us. You’re dead otherwise. There are too many out there....”

  She saw the man wince at Tamara’s words. She may have been their reason for being here, but he could plainly see that Tamara’s blunt approach was a very bad idea. He was right. Yasmin couldn’t believe Tamara’s arrogance in proclaiming such an idea.

  Yasmin raised her rifle and pointed it directly at her former classmate. “I’ll be the judge of that.”

  * * *

  DAVIS STOPPED DEAD in her tracks, staring openmouthed as Yasmin gestured for her to drop the rifle.

  “You’d better do as she says, Davis,” Bolan said. “They have the upper hand.”

  Lasi said something fast in Urdu, and he saw the glances flash between the three PWLA members.

  Yasmin shook her head. “No. It’s me they’ve come for. Let them explain themselves when we get back to camp. The enemy has been driven back.”

  “Do you know who they were?” Bolan butted in. “Could have been Baloch rebels, maybe even gun runners or Taliban. They all know you’re out here.”

  The young woman shook her head. She might have lacked experience, but he could see there was steel in her that would serve her well...and make his job that much harder.

  “Doesn’t really matter who they are,” she said. “They’ve been sent off, and that might be warning enough for now. It’s time for us to go back to camp. Then we can at least find out exactly why you’re here, and who you’re serving.” She gestured for them to come forward. Lasi picked up Davis’s weapon and followed, covering them from the rear. Bolan noted the expression on her face. If she had her way, both he and Davis would be joining their attackers in providing carrion to the mountain wildlife.

  They reached Yasmin and her companion. They held their weapons rock steady even if their faces belied such confidence. They beckoned their prisoners to go ahead of them.

  As they started their march to the PWLA camp, Bolan turned to survey the area they were leaving behind. He made it seem as though he wanted to address the women as he marched, but with every word his eyes were skimming the land. From the sounds of the firefight, he had been able to tell that all the opposition had been wiped out, but in that case at least one of their Pakistani allies must still be alive.

  If so, then whichever man was still standing had made no attempt to come to their aid. Was it because they were biding their time? Or had they witnessed the way Bolan had been forced to turn on Patel, and maybe thought that he, not one of the women, had fired the fatal shots? On the other hand, if they knew Patel had died at the hands of the armed women, it could change their whole approach to the mission. Already, there had been latent hostility to the idea of rescui
ng anyone connected to the PWLA. What if that was now compounded by the notion that those they had come to retrieve had been responsible for the death of a compatriot?

  The soldier scanned the horizon, hoping that he would catch a glimpse of any military men. There was nothing. He could see a few corpses on the ground, but there was no sign of movement. “I can tell you exactly why we’re here,” Bolan told Yasmin. “No need to take us back to your camp for that. The American government isn’t too happy with the idea that a U.S. citizen may have been kidnapped by a terrorist group—”

  “We’re not terrorists,” Yasmin snapped. “The PWLA fights for freedom, for equality. It could be argued that your government is a terrorist organization.”

  Bolan shrugged. “If you want to get philosophical, it’s a thin line between one man’s freedom fighter and another’s terrorist. Ultimately, the U.S. government thought you had been taken by force, and so we were sent to save you. Maybe you don’t need saving. Maybe you do...even if you went willingly.”

  Yasmin laughed. “This is America’s idea of freedom, then? We’re children that need help even if we don’t realize it? What gives them the right to be the nanny state to a world which they still consider a mewling infant?”

  “Who said anything about the nanny states?” Bolan returned. “This is me talking to you as one soldier to another. Like I said, maybe you do need saving, even if you joined the PWLA of your own accord.”

  Yasmin’s expression contained an unspoken question—the question he had wanted her to ask.

  “You said back there that the enemy had been sent off,” he said. “They were defeated, but not by you and your two soldiers, and not by Davis and me, either. They were eliminated by a detachment of Pakistani army personnel, who as far as I can tell were killed defending you. In fact, all you did in that fight was kill one of them.”

  “They are no longer a threat. That is all that matters.” She was trying to be firm, but there was a tremor of doubt in her voice.